


Vast Nothingness

by moodwriter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:31:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodwriter/pseuds/moodwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles thinks Derek needs a hug. That leads to interesting new feelings that aren't so unrequited Stiles first thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Banner by me
> 
> The story was betaed by the wonderful [aislinn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/aislinn/pseuds/aislinn).
> 
> Spoilers for season two finale.

Sometimes Stiles thinks his mouth is way too... mouthy. He especially remembers that one time when he said the Kanima is an abomination and Derek looked hurt, as though Stiles was talking about werewolves, too.

He’s not sure how he ended up thinking about this, about the way Derek knows how it feels to lose someone dear, someone you can’t even imagine your life without until they are gone. And even then it’s impossible to imagine it. The pain just becomes a blunt edge carving into your side, and you’re so used to it, it feels like a part of you.

Maybe he’s thinking about this because they are always almost dying.

He thinks about how he said to Lydia that death doesn’t happen to the person who dies. He would be someone else if his mother hadn’t died. Derek would be someone else too, someone less gloomy and less hurt. He wonders how it would feel to know that person.

Stiles is sitting on the couch, the TV on, but he’s not watching anything. He’s just thinking. And maybe he should be doing something instead.

The thing about Stiles... He has his dad. Yeah, it means he fears losing him too. Having someone always means that you might lose them someday. But Derek has no one. A crazy uncle and a wayward pack do not a family make.

Stiles doesn’t know why he feels like he has to do this, why it’s his job and nobody else’s. It’s possible he’s the only one in the whole world who has even thought of it.

He gets up, puts on his shoes, takes his keys and wallet, and runs to his Jeep.

The world is dark around him, but he feels like it’s a safe night. Deaton told him that he has more than just a spark inside him, that he can do things, see things if he stops thinking of himself as just the comic relief, the Robin to Scott’s Batman, the nerdy kid who never gets the girl.

The truth is Stiles has never thought of himself as anything other than Stiles. He’s trying his very best to just breathe through his day. Mostly he manages. Most days, he has other people to worry about. He’s made himself useful to others. He takes care of others. That’s his way of surviving.

Once he reaches the old station, he realizes he has no idea what the others are doing. They might be here too. If that’s the case this won’t work.

Stiles finds his way in, listening, walking carefully, his senses alert. He knows that if they’re here they already know he’s coming. Still, he tries to be quiet.

Derek is alone which makes him both scared and relieved.

He’s going to try this then.

“Hi,” Stiles says when Derek looks up from where he’s lying on an old mattress, reading a book. It’s weird to see him do something so mundane.

“Has something happened?” Derek asks, sitting up, but there’s no urgency in his movements. Stiles guesses Derek has already read his heartbeat, smelled his adrenaline level, seen how he’s not flailing about, screaming bloody murder.

He has a terrible urge to shuffle his feet. “I was thinking...” And suddenly, he feels stupid.

Derek tilts his head to the side, but says nothing.

“I... was thinking...” He bites his lower lip.

“You do that a lot,” Derek says helpfully.

Stiles makes a face. He knows he’s blushing. God damn it. “Nothing. This was a stupid idea. I’m going now. Forget... I was here.” He takes a step back, but Derek is on his feet and in Stiles’ personal space in a heartbeat, staring down at him. It’s only a few inches, but Derek is taller, and it’s enough. Stiles hates himself for feeling small.

“What is it, Stiles?”

“I want to hug you.” He stands his ground; he gives himself that, but he’s shaking like a leaf. “A manly platonic hug but a hug nonetheless. When was the last time someone hugged you?”

Derek’s mouth falls open, and he looks so stunned it’s almost funny.

“I get to hug people all the time. You get to twist their arms and break their bones.”

Derek tries to speak, but nothing comes out. Then he exhales, growling. “You’re crazy.”

Stiles nods. “Only crazy people offer to hug people who’ve threatened to rip their throat out, but I’ve been thinking... A pack needs a strong leader. You’re too stoic, too unattached. I’ve lost things, too, you know... but I have my dad, and... he loves me. Human touch. Something. You need something normal.”

“Hugging you is normal?” Derek asks, still sounding stunned.

“Caring is normal,” Stiles says softly, reaching out. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” He lets his hand hover close to Derek’s arm, then swallows and bravely pats Derek twice, leaving his hand there. “I... want you to know that I’m grateful that you’ve saved my ass many times. That’s... nice of you.” He’s just blurting out words now. He has no idea what he’s doing, or even why he’s doing this. He just knows that Derek deserves it. There’s no one else, and that thought is beyond sad, and Stiles pushes it down as fast as he can.

Still, Stiles is here.

“Can I hug you?” he asks tentatively. He hasn’t let go of Derek, but it’s such an awkward insignificant touch. That won’t do. It has to be something real, something good, something warm. Stiles is good at hugging, even when it’s awkward, like with his dad.

Derek shrugs.

Shrugs!

It means there’s a chance Stiles is right. Derek needs human touch as much as the next person. Stiles takes a step closer, slides his arms around Derek’s middle, pausing for a moment, saying, “Don’t bite. This is not a trick. I just want to hug you.”

The grunt he gets as an answer makes him smile and he lets go, moves in for the kill, wraps his arms around Derek, and just breathes. He rests his cheek against Derek’s neck, and the heat radiating from him is overpowering. “Dude, you’re a furnace.”

Derek doesn’t say anything, but after awhile Stiles feels him lift his arms and fold them around Stiles’ waist. Derek crosses his fingers at the small of Stiles’ back, and it would feel weird if Stiles thought about it but he doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to ruin the moment.

They stay like that for a long while, and it _is_ awkward too, but mostly it’s just nice. They are both lonely in a way the others aren’t. Or maybe Isaac is, but he’s still too homicidally weird to Stiles. He’s used to Derek’s threats of pain. He knows that when push comes to shove Derek is a stand up guy.

It’s sweet, and he wants to stay there a little bit longer, but he feels Derek pulling away before he even moves. Stiles lets him go, his hands lingering a little, patting Derek’s chest, sliding over his shirt. “There. That wasn’t so hard.”

Derek takes a step back, and Stiles can’t look him in the eyes.

“You need to go.” The words are quiet, softly spoken. “Isaac is coming.”

Stiles smiles, then waves, walking backwards to the door. He almost trips because there’s always stuff lying around, but he keeps his balance and he turns around, looking over his shoulder at Derek. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he says. “Hug therapy.”

Derek waves his hand dismissively, but Stiles sees the corner of his mouth curl up.

Yeah, he’s making a difference here. “You’re not damaged goods,” Stiles says carelessly, and maybe it’s not the right thing to say, maybe he’s not the right person to say it, but Derek doesn’t look angry. He just bows his head, shaking it a little, and Stiles leaves, grinning happily.

He sees Isaac on the way out, and the way Isaac looks at him makes him wonder if he smells like Derek - or if maybe he just doesn’t usually look this happy after meeting him.


	2. Chapter 2

It becomes a thing. He never intended it to become one, and now - it’s just scary.

Derek lets him come to him, lets him stay after others have left, lets him lean in, lets him touch, and it’s warm and good, and Stiles enjoys it way too much.

He keeps going back because hugging Derek Hale _is_ therapy. It’s better than talking. It's better than jerking off. It's better than lazy Sunday mornings.

So yeah, it’s a thing, and Stiles has no idea what to do with it.

He hasn’t told anyone, not even Scott - definitely not Scott. And really, what would he even say? _I’m very intimate with Derek’s leather jacket?_

He doesn't know how to explain it to himself so how could he ever explain it to someone else?

After one particularly eventful night, Derek stays at his place for a while, sits on Stiles’ bed, flipping through his magazines, and when it's time to go to sleep he just grabs Stiles’ elbow and pulls him close, buries his nose in Stiles’ neck.

It should be something other than comforting.

Stiles breathes in slowly, his fingers gripping the back of Derek's jacket.

“I miss family,” Derek says then, and it surprises Stiles completely. They don't talk – or rather, Derek doesn't talk. Stiles does all the awkward talking, unless he doesn't. This never happens.

Those words hurt him, and he tightens his hold.

“Thanks... for doing this.” Derek's lips brush against his neck, and it tickles, but he wouldn't move even if the world was on fire. “You're bringing back all kinds of memories. The good ones from... before.”

Stiles bites his lip, aching in a way he hasn’t before.

“Yeah...” Derek pulls back, and Stiles lets go reluctantly. He's not ready for this to end. Derek looks at him for a moment, then leans close, and Stiles' heart goes crazy. _What’s going on?_ But Derek only puts his forehead against Stiles', sighing. “You affect me.”

The feeling is very much mutual.

Derek is gone before Stiles can say anything, and it finally sinks in that they had another one of those one-sided conversations, but this time, it was Stiles who stayed quiet.

It makes him grin; he can't help it. 

He goes through his _other_ life in a fog. School is nothing but distant noise. Lacrosse is spikes of pain and bitter mortification. Grocery shopping and other obligations happen to another Stiles. The only time he’s properly awake he’s either with his dad or taking part in werewolf business. 

And the times he feels most alive, he’s nuzzling Derek’s neck, breathing in his scent. 

Stiles thinks he might be a little bit gay. 

He tells that to Derek one night when they’re hugging outside the station, the night air cool around them. 

Derek coughs, and it sounds like he’s hiding a laugh. 

“What? I like this a bit more than you probably think is appropriate.”

This time Derek snorts, and Stiles stomps on his foot. It does nothing, except now he’s closer and taller and standing on Derek’s feet. But instead of pushing him away, Derek keeps him there, and Stiles wonders what would’ve happened just a few weeks ago if he’d tried something like this. 

“I don’t mind your gayness,” Derek says, his breath hot against Stiles’ jaw. “I like happy people.”

Stiles drops his head on Derek’s shoulder, laughing so hard it hurts. He can’t stop, and he realizes soon that Derek is laughing with him. He can’t remember ever hearing that, the genuine burst of happiness, and it makes him laugh even more, so much so that his eyes are watering. 

Derek pushes him to an arm’s length, still shaking with silent laughter. “You’re something else,” he says, and Stiles beams. He is. He tamed a werewolf. 

They stand like that for awhile, and then Derek walks him to his Jeep, makes him get in. They look at each other through the window, smiling, and Stiles realizes it’s been an eternity since he’s felt this light. 

It doesn’t matter who threatens them tomorrow or what happens during the next full moon. It’s a good day to be alive. 

The first time it becomes something else, they are in the kitchen of the Stilinski household. His dad has a night shift, and everyone else is in the living room, trying to figure out what to watch during a movie night. It’s not yet a routine that they hang out on any other hours but the life-threatening ones, but they are trying. Derek wants to build a pack that is strong enough to keep other wolves on their toes. Boyd and Erica strayed, but they came back, and Scott has finally made up his mind about how much he actually wants to be a part of the pack, and Jackson, the jackass, is now a full blown werewolf who’s loyal to his Alpha. That surprised everyone. 

Now they are all here, and Stiles is looking for something from the fridge, and when he turns around Derek is there, a wall of chest in front of Stiles. Great. 

“What’re you up to?” he asks, holding a bottle of Coke and the carrot slices he made a while back. “I’m kind of busy here, and they... are in the other room.” He tries to be quiet, but his voice is all squeaky. “With their werewolf senses, you know... You do know.”

Derek just stares at him. 

“You’re making me nervous,” Stiles whispers. “Did I do something?”

“You seem different somehow,” Derek finally says, and he sounds normal and human, and Stiles lets out a breath. God, what an infuriating creature Derek can be.

“Different? No. Same old, same old.” He tries to get past Derek, but Derek blocks his way by lifting his arms and resting his hands against the fridge on either side of Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles is trapped. Trapped! He panics. 

“Calm down.” Derek moves closer, sniffing his cheek. “You reek of adrenaline. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Stiles bangs his head against the fridge because he’s trying to get away from the prying nose. “Why would I think... Why would you hurt me? I don’t think you would. Not anymore. We’re friends. Hugbuddies.” He should shut up right now. He wonders if Scott can hear his heartbeats. Or his words.

Derek smells his skin close to his ear, and the bottle in Stiles’ hand starts to slip. 

“What are you doing?” he whispers. 

“I’m trying to figure out what’s different about you.” Derek’s nose is everywhere but especially in his neck, brushing, scenting, and Stiles groans, trying to swallow the sound. God, fuck, he’s going to die. “Oh,” Derek says, moving back. 

“Yeah...” Stiles can’t look at Derek. He can barely breathe. 

“You weren’t kidding the other day,” Derek says carefully, and Stiles feels the blush creeping up his cheeks. 

He shakes his head. 

“Oh... _Oh..._ ”

He wants to bury his head in the sand.

“You’re sixteen,” Derek says, and it’s all the cold water Stiles could ever need. 

“Thanks for reminding me.”

“I meant... It happens when you’re that young.”

“Just... Are you trying to embarrass me more? Because you’re doing a hell of a good job at it.” 

Derek looks at him, then steps back enough to give Stiles room to leave. “I didn’t mean to...”

“I’m seventeen soon. I know what I’m doing. I’m not a child.” Stiles feels violent all of a sudden, and it’s not like him at all so he backs away, trying to calm himself. 

“I didn’t... I don’t... What?”

He bristles. “I don’t want to talk about this. Let’s go watch the movie.” 

They go, and Stiles sits as far away from Derek as he can without leaving the room. Stupid werewolves and their heightened senses. 

Stiles avoids Derek for a week, but it’s pain and suffering because he got used to the hug therapy. Now he’s hugging his dad so much that he makes him suspicious and that’s not good, either. 

His life sucks. 

It’s Scott who finally asks him what’s going on and why he’s avoiding Derek. Stiles tries to brush it off, but Scott is being uncharacteristically perceptive. It’s highly annoying that he’s developing these skills now that Stiles has something to hide. 

“It’s nothing,” he says for the third time while shoveling food into his mouth. They are sitting in the cafeteria, the others somewhere else at the moment, thank god.

Scott leans closer, whispering, “He’s been almost... nice lately, and now he’s a douche again. And when you’re there he’s manageable. Please come back.”

He hasn’t even thought of the fact that his presence might do something good. “You’re going tonight?”

Scott nods, looking like a hopeful puppy, and Stiles can’t deny him anything. 

“Okay, I’ll come.” 

Scott looks like he wants to hug Stiles, but instead he just beams and pats Stiles’ arm. “You’re the best. The best!”

Yeah, he’s so easy. All Scott has to do is look helpless, and he’s willing to do anything for him. 

The meeting is awfully tense, and they don’t agree on much of anything. Derek is all up in Scott’s face, and he even makes Isaac whine with his Alpha growls. 

Stiles stays behind when the others leave, not because he wants to but because Derek grabs his arm and asks him to. So he does, and for the longest time, they just stare at each other. 

“So...” Stiles says, but Derek doesn’t take the bait. 

They are standing opposite each other, and there’s at least three feet between them. That’s good, but it’s also annoying. Stiles wants hugs. He wants to flail out his frustration because he doesn’t know what to say or do to get what he needs. 

“Come here,” Derek says finally, and Stiles obeys without hesitation. Derek opens his arms, invites him close, and that’s it, he just steps into that circle of warmth, his mind shutting down. Doesn’t matter. He needs this. 

And it feels so good.

“Please don’t stop doing this,” Derek says, his arms tight around Stiles. “I don’t mind.”

So it’s totally one-sided? Stiles winces, but doesn’t try to pull away. It sucks being him, but at least he gets hugs. “Okay, good,” he whispers, his voice cracking. He tries not to care. 

Derek keeps him there, his hands getting to know Stiles more intimately, cupping the back of his head, brushing down his back, pulling him closer by the waist, and Stiles just lets it happen, trying to keep his mind intact. He knows Derek can smell how it affects him, and it’s sweet torture. He can’t stop it, and he knows he’ll come back. 

And he does. Sometimes he stays after meetings. Sometimes he comes by even when there’s no reason to. Sometimes Derek climbs through his window and stays for awhile, just to keep Stiles company. They don’t even touch always. It’s just comforting to have someone around, someone who doesn’t judge, who doesn’t need anything much from you. 

Except Stiles is having a hard time not expecting anything. 

He wants things. His body wants things. And sometimes he thinks Derek wants something too, but every time he feels like there might be something there, Derek leaves, pulls back, steps away. It never leads to anything, and all he can think of is that Derek thinks he’s a kid who’s good for one thing only: comfort. 

That’s a lot, but it’s not nearly enough, and it’s starting to drive Stiles insane. 

That night, when Derek comes to him, sits on the edge of his bed, looking out of place and wrong in his bedroom, Stiles steps between Derek’s spread thighs and just stares down at him. He touches Derek’s eyebrow, then the other one, his hands shaking, but he doesn’t care. He wants more, and he’ll take more, as much as Derek is willing to give. 

Derek looks at him, his face expressionless, but he’s not pushing Stiles away. He just is. That gives Stiles a little more courage. 

He slides his fingers over Derek’s nose and cheekbones, pushes his lower lip down with his thumb, then brushes his fingers over Derek’s closed eyelids, gentle and quiet, slow like their lives aren’t hectic and full of things that make them urgent and always on the edge. The longer Derek lets him do this, the slower he becomes, his touches lingering, almost loving, and he loses the track of time. 

It shocks him when Derek puts his hands on his hip bones, just holding, not pulling him closer or pushing him away. 

He’s not sure if Derek is just humoring him, giving him something to _keep the teenager happy_ , but he hopes it’s not just that. He hopes there’s something more here. 

Stiles touches the skin behind Derek’s ear, his other hand resting on Derek’s cheek, and he feels the way Derek’s breath catches. It’s not his imagination. It’s not. 

He moves his hand a little bit so he can reach Derek’s mouth again, his thumb pressing down, spreading Derek’s lower lip. He wants more. 

Stiles scratches Derek’s neck with his nails, then moves his hand up into Derek’s hair, grabbing it, his fingers unyielding, strong, and he has Derek in his hold, at his mercy, and he can’t believe Derek lets him do this, lets him tilt his head back and expose his throat. It must mean something, at least trust. 

Derek licks his lips, the tip of his tongue touching Stiles’ thumb, and it’s too much, his eyes fluttering closed. Stiles is barely breathing now, his lips parted, and he’s never in his life been this turned on by anything. 

Derek’s hands on his waist burn him, and he can’t help the roll of his hips, and the way Derek guides the movement makes him lose the last breath he’s still holding in. 

He feels Derek pull him close, feels Derek press his face against his stomach, and it’s earth-shattering. He affects Derek too. It’s not one-sided. 

Derek pushes Stiles’ shirt up with his nose, his tongue sliding over the exposed skin. Stiles twists his fingers in Derek’s hair, holding on harder, biting on his lip, almost drawing blood. 

His world tilts over, and his back hits the mattress, and Derek is there, watching him, his hands on either side of Stiles’ middle. Derek’s eyes are completely dark, his pupils blown. 

Stiles presses his feet against the mattress, lifting his hips up, needy, and he knows what kind of noises he’s making. He can’t stop them. 

“Oh my god,” Derek says, sounding strained. “Don’t.” He puts a flat palm against Stiles’ stomach, pushing him down. “Don’t. Please.”

Stiles grabs the pillow, the sheets, staring at Derek with huge eyes, breathing with his mouth open, his chest rising fast. 

“You... shouldn’t trust me this much.” Derek’s fingers curl against Stiles’ stomach, and he can feel the sharp nails, the claws. 

His thighs are shaking, want spreading through his veins. God, he’s going to fall apart if Derek doesn’t do something. 

“This is for me, isn’t it?” Derek asks, his voice soft and pained and _aroused_.

“Please... Just.... Please?” He wants it all. “ _Please_?” 

Derek closes his eyes, then as though reaching a decision he opens them, watching Stiles carefully when he puts his hand over Stiles’ hard cock and squeezes. The effect is immediate, Stiles’ whole lower body rising off the bed, and he can’t keep in the moan. He shakes all over, his mind shattering. 

Derek moves closer, smelling him, his nose close to Stiles’ cheek, his lips, the underside of his chin. Instinct makes him tilt his head back, and Derek groans, his teeth capturing Stiles’ throat. The hold is not strong, not threatening, but it makes Stiles surrender, his body relaxing, giving in entirely. 

“Don’t be so perfect,” Derek growls, then bites down again, moving his hand over the denim of Stiles’ jeans, and Stiles spreads his legs, wanting more. 

Derek’s hand is warm, and it moves lower, between Stiles’ spread legs, and Stiles lifts his hips again, wanting it, needing it, so out of his mind he can’t even think how he looks or feels or sounds. 

There’s saliva on his throat, teeth sharp enough to break his skin, and all he wants is to be spread open and be taken. He’s shaking all over, and he can’t focus enough to even want to come. It’s all too much and not nearly enough and when he feels the familiar tingle in his balls and at his lower back he grabs Derek’s hair and arm, digs his nails in and holds onto him when the orgasm starts. He whines through it, pulling Derek closer, hurting because he’s not getting enough, but having Derek there makes it better, makes it tolerable, makes it somehow special. 

When he can breathe again he realizes Derek is on top of him, biting his neck, sucking it, his arms under Stiles’ shoulders, his legs straddling Stiles’ hips. He’s making an odd sound, like he’s in pain. 

Stiles hesitates for a second, then pets Derek’s hair. At first he’s uncertain, his movements shaky, but when Derek relaxes under his touch Stiles feels like he’s doing the right thing and it becomes easy. Derek releases his neck and pulls back enough to look him in the eyes. It’s good there’s no apology on his face, but he looks gloomy, like there’s regret somewhere in his mind. 

That’s just the thing, sometimes you can’t do the right thing because none of it is right. Stiles puts his palm against Derek’s cheek. “We can keep it a secret until I’m eighteen,” he says quietly, and he knows there’s a promise right there. He doesn’t care. He wants more, and he’s not afraid to ask for it. 

Derek puts his nose against Stiles’ closed eyelid, his lips warm against Stiles’ cheek. “You’re killing me.” Derek breathes in deep. “You broadcast sex all the damn time.”

Stiles smiles. 

“That I could resist, but you’re doing it on my frequency. You push _my_ buttons, like you know me, like you know exactly what drives me crazy.”

He loves the fact that Derek is sharing. It makes him feel like he’s not the only vulnerable one in this insane relationship. 

“I want you. God, I want you.”

Stiles slides his hands down Derek’s back to his spread thighs, and then he just holds on, pulling him closer. 

“Stiles...” It sounds like a whine. 

“Date me,” he says, knowing that he has an advantage here now. It’s possible he could ask anything, and Derek would oblige. 

Derek kisses his cheek, his nose, then his closed lips, and it feels like a yes, like a future. Stiles opens his mouth, lets Derek lick him, and he can’t help the way he thrusts up, needing friction again. 

It’s simple after that, nearly gentle, and they don’t stop kissing for a second. Derek moves on top of him like they are fucking, making love, and the way Derek holds him makes him feel owned. It’s overwhelming and sweet and a little too loving, and Stiles doesn’t know how to take it, but it doesn’t seem to matter because Derek is there, present, aware of him, and it’s mutual. It hurts in a way nothing has ever hurt him before, and when he feels Derek tense above him, when he feels another person’s orgasm he can just keep his eyes shut and hold onto Derek harder. 

He can’t believe it’s happening, that he gets this, that Derek gives him this, that it’s real. 

When it’s over he moves so he can wrap himself around Derek. He knows he couldn’t do anything if Derek wanted to leave, but he wants to make sure that Derek knows he wants him to stay. 

Derek has buried his face in Stiles’ neck again, and it sounds like he’s growl-whining. 

“What?” Stiles whispers, his voice nothing but soft feelings. 

“Werewolves are difficult,” Derek says against his neck. “We’re possessive freaks. I want to... keep you.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” 

“You don’t know... the depth of it.”

“Show me.” He kisses the side of Derek’s head. “You can be all werewolf-needy over my ass. I don’t care.”

Derek barks out a laugh. “Don’t say that.”

“I like to be needed,” he confesses, all the heartache in those words. “I like to be important to someone. I’ve... I don’t know... I never get to have nice things. To have this... Kind of cool, rewarding. I like to be able to make you desperate. You have no idea.”

Derek bites him, and it hurts in a good way. He tilts his head to the side, and Derek deepens the bite, his teeth still normal. 

“That’s good too,” he says, breathless, and Derek holds him tighter, his arms a warm weight on him. “You know me... I’ll hold my ground. No matter how territorial you become.”

Derek release his neck, licks the bitemark, then looks at Stiles for a while. “I can’t believe that you of all people can handle me... that you even want to.”

“Hey... I like you.” He brushes his fingers through Derek’s hair. “I really, really like you.”

The way Derek’s face changes, becomes open, uncertain, hopeful, makes Stiles feel like he’s getting a rare gift. “I like you too,” Derek says finally. “You make me feel like I can have nice things.”

Yeah, that one. It’s almost impossible to believe that they can have this. Stiles thinks about his dad and his guns, thinks about the pack and all the trust issues, and about the crazy world and the hunters. It’s a chance he’s willing to take. “Let’s do this, please,” he says, his voice so quiet it’s barely above a whisper.

Derek stares at him, then nods, his eyes smiling even though he looks serious. “Let’s.”

Stiles pulls him down to a full-body hug, and the laughter he feels against his skin makes him feel light. This is so worth it.

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story had more to say, it seems. I'm quite happy it did because I loved writing these two in this particular story. I hope this feels good, and I hope you like it. Thank you so much for reading. It's always scary to write in a new fandom.


End file.
